


i carry it well

by ad astra dean (bitterescape)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absolute Trash, Dreams, Freeform, M/M, Pining Dean, Post-Episode: s11e18 Hell's Angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterescape/pseuds/ad%20astra%20dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean feels lost when Cas isn't around. Coda to episode 11x18, Hell's Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i carry it well

Dean hears echoes in the bunker sometimes. Usually when he’s missing Cas  — which has been happening more and more often lately, especially now that Crowley has said, in no uncertain terms, that Cas is doing just fine in his own head, that he doesn’t want to come back. He hears memories bouncing off the walls, thinks he sees Cas in the kitchen when he first wakes up in the morning, blinks to find him gone. He finds pieces of his shattered nerves strewn through rooms, over shelves and countertops and days-old laundry. 

He wakes up crying but can never remember why, can’t remember much of anything when he’s constantly hearing and seeing and feeling Cas in everything he does. Routine is the only thing that keeps him going  — he makes coffee, showers, does research, sleeps (then wakes up again to do it the next day). No progress. No news.

After a while, he can’t remember what’s real and what he’s imagined in his so-called happy place, where Cas is home and home is Cas and there’s nothing to worry about except what to make for dinner; certainly not how he’s going to defeat God’s sister and his reject son, Lucifer.

Sam is worried.

“Dean, do you want to talk about it?” It’s late afternoon and Dean can imagine the sun, setting pinkish-red into the horizon beyond their home below the ground. They’re in the library, poring over the same books looking for the same solution that still hasn’t appeared, having the same conversation about getting Cas back and defeating Amara and it all feels so hopeless in the moment, like nothing they do can possibly stop the odds mounting against them. Dean feels incredibly mortal for the first time in his recent memory.

He doesn’t pretend not to know what Sam is talking about. They’re past this now, the dancing around the subject to avoid feelings, the ignorance when someone asks about Cas, the glint of a question that doesn’t get asked. He still doesn’t know exactly when his boundaries fell, but Sam knows. Someone finally knows, shares his pain and his loss built up seven years, the secret he never dared to tell.

“No.” His answer is short and gruff, though every cell in his body aches to break down and cry on his little brother’s shoulder. But that’s not what he does. That can’t be what he does, for the sake of somehow getting out of this godforsaken mess. He’s the brick wall  — has been since the days when Sam was barely taller than Dean’s chest.

Dean leaves Sam in the library to do whatever he does on his laptop, stalks to the liquor cabinet where he grabs the first alcohol he can find, a way to cover up the fire burning in his throat. He doesn’t bother with a glass.

He lies in bed that night hopelessly drunk, arms flush against his sides, hands balled into fists and  _ cries, _ sobs with a loss that feels too painful to bear. Cries for himself, mourning Cas’ choice, agonizing over what he could have done better. Cries for Cas, trapped in his own mind with the Devil as his puppeteer because he somehow believed that this was what he deserved.  

When he slips into sleep, he dreams of Cas sitting on the couch in the bunker, watching TV. His trench coat and dress clothes are nowhere to be found, replaced with a pair of Dean’s worn sweatpants and an old band t-shirt. Cas looks warm and hazy and so, so real. Dean can almost forget that it’s not really him.

He moves to sit on the couch, says, “what’cha watching, bud?” even though he’s never called Cas “bud” in his life; it just feels right, feels sickeningly right as Cas answers, deadpan, “a show about mating alligators,” and Dean doesn’t even find it strange. It’s so perfectly Cas that he wants to settle into the cushions and stay, wants to throw his arm over the back of the couch and fit Cas into the space between his hip and his collarbone, torsos touching  —

A voice behind him: “You’re dreaming about me.” Dean almost falls off the couch.

He’s standing in the doorway, the trench coat hanging off of his frame, hair disheveled, head cocked to the side in a way Dean hasn’t seen in years, since the first months when Cas’ handprint still marked Dean’s left arm.

A single breath catches in his throat in disbelief. “Cas?”

He nods. “Dean.”

“Is it actually you?” He’s wary, well aware that this could be a trick. Lucifer disguised as Cas to throw him off.

“It’s me,” he says, almost whispering. “I don’t have much time. Lucifer is unaware that I was able to do this.”

A beat of silence. “I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice nearly cracks trying to get the words out. He doesn’t know why he says it, just that it needs to be said.

“What are you sorry for? That you couldn’t stop me from saying “yes” to Lucifer?” Cas looks to the floor before taking a step toward him. “I did it for a reason.”

“We don’t even know if he can defeat Amara, Cas. You’re running on blind faith here, man — which, to be honest, I didn’t think you still had in you.”

Cas exhales sharply. “Why are you dreaming about me?” He sounds almost angry.

“I miss you”  — Dean pauses  — “a lot. I want you to be okay. I want you to come home.” It’s more honest than he’s been in a long time.

He steps forward then, closer still to Cas, keeps moving in until their foreheads are almost touching. Cas doesn’t seem to be breathing as Dean pulls him in for a hug, almost losing it completely as he finally feels like he can fall apart. He stays there, resting his head on Cas’ shoulder for a long minute, feels Cas returning the hug with a grasping intensity that leaves him dizzy. Dean leans out and grabs Cas’ shoulders in his hands, shakes him gently. 

“I need you to come home,” he says. “I need you. You have to promise me you’ll try.”

He hesitates. “I promise.” Cas sounds breathless, like he’s slipping away, back into Lucifer and back into his mind where Dean can’t follow him.

Dean wakes up crying again, but this time he knows why.

**Author's Note:**

> sort-of episode coda to Hell's Angel. this is a bit of a mess but i had fun with the style. unbeta'd.
> 
> come visit me on tumblr: fevercas.tumblr.com


End file.
